


oh pretty boy

by only_lovers_left_in_genosha



Series: What Happens To Us Now? [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Child Abuse, Coping, Disabled Character, Disabled Character of Color, Nonbinary Character, Other, Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Trans Character, child sexual abuse warnings, trans characters plural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2615243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_lovers_left_in_genosha/pseuds/only_lovers_left_in_genosha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes we recover, sometimes we don't ever - not really.</p><p>sometimes we just have to pretend to get on with our lives, hold someone's hand and cry behind closed doors.</p><p>sometimes we just have to live and that's the best we can do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The start of cleasning

**Author's Note:**

> before anyone starts, a lot of this is gleaned from personal experiences mashed up, so be mindful when you ask questions!
> 
> feedback greatly appreciated! i'm not sure if i should keep this a oneshot or not so idk i guess i'll just see if it's worth it.
> 
> warnings thorughout story for csa ( child sexual abuse), pedophilia, rape, racism, ableism and ableist slurs ( the r word included)

How stories start is always hard. Especially when the story itself is one that is excruciating to tell. You accumulate a lot in life, some things like trinkets or candies, stuff that children should get. 

But people often forget about the other gains as well: the sweaty hands, the skinned knees; that when you play around with dirt that you may never get it out from under your nails.

But these are things that everyone says that you need to get over. That you will recover from, if you smile enough and kiss your parents goodnight, if you always fold your clothes and stop complaining and stop complaining and stop complaining.

Oikawa Tooru always complained: about the excessive amount of shallots in his food, at nobody paying attention to him, about his underclassmen disrespecting him, about Iwa-chan not hanging out due to curfews and schoolwork.

Oikawa Tooru always kept his mouth shut. It was a little mouth, which belonged to a kid that he never grew away from, one that he tried shutting and stapling over. It must have worked because the tiny mouth never spoke, not through him at least, and so Tooru kept mum while he bemoaned the minor things in life (all the while hoping that the eleven year old in him would just suffocate).

After all, it was an age that he should have known better at.

It took all of his strength to sit down next to Hajime after the spring tournaments had ended, and ask them thickly if they could go to the nearby playground.

Hajime, he assumed/hoped, just pegged his stuffy annunciation and watery eyes a product of their last tournament as highschoolers. Either way, they got up, saturated with sweat, and followed Tooru out the door as the rest of their team.

He led the way, Iwazumi trailing behind, in a quaky gait discernable to even Hajime. The sun would set soon, maybe in an hour or so maximum. Plain it was now to Hajime that Oikawa was not his usual self.

And so neither of them spoke, just settled onto swings as if they belonged there, dragging toes against the dirt, trying to detect falling stars in a sky yet azure.

Oikawa would get up every few minutes, swallowing apprehensively, and turn to a new attraction scattered around the shabby playground. The swings, slides, tunnels and faded spring animals were all tested out by the two of them, Iwazumi cautiously tailing Tooru ( who would now stand up suddenly, shake, sigh, and slink off back to the slide again: which he got his ass stuck in at some point. Hajime didn’t laugh like he would have normally).

The blanket of night sky pulled over the town. The world was not asleep, but it was lethargic. The streetlights sprung to attention, like nightlights for the earth. Kindaichi had tentatively approached them at some point, glancing anxiously between the two of them at Oikawa not making eye contact as he sat at the end of the slide and Hajime ushered them away, making uncertain promises of their return in haste.

“It’s been an hour already,” she had said “ are you sure that the both of you are alright?”

Iwazumi had assured her that they were and sent Yuutarou on her way, back to the rest of the team.  
When Kindaichi left, Tooru caught their sleeve.

“ Iwazumi-san,” it was the beginning of a sentence that never completed yet, but had now become very familiar to Hajime.

They couldn’t be annoyed about it.

“ Yes, Oikawa?”

“ Could you…please sit down, with me?”

He wriggled to a side as Hajime sat down on the lip of the slide, the metal, clamping down on both sides of their hips. Of many manners, a vice. Tooru clambered into their lap, sticking his head under their chin, pushing his knees up to his chest, feet kicked up on either rim of the slide, as if he was trying to kick away the crushing plates away to give Iwazumi’s tighs breathing room.

Iwazumi folded his arms around the bundle of their setter before Oikawa could reach for them himself. Seemingly at least, it seemed to relax him. He let out a heaving exhale, puffing out most of his anxiety into the air, releasing them into the atmosphere like carbon dioxide.

“ Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmured, gingerly, and Hajime was comforted at the use of the casual expression, but not the tone behind it. 

“ Yeah?”

“I’m your boy right? I am, right?” 

Tooru couldn’t really tell why, but he felt like crying, and it was all he could do to stop himself from sobbing audibly. He needed to hear it said. He needed to.

“You’ve always been a boy. If you wanna, you always will be.”

“But am I your boy Iwa-chan?”

“I don’t own you-”

“I wish you did.” 

It was bitter, yet tender, salve on a burn almost.

It was all he could do to not sob audib-

“Tooru?”

He didn’t say anything, just turned in his head into Hajime’s neck, trying to even out his breathing and possibly suck back his tears into his face. Forever. God, he embarrassed himself enough already.

At least he would make Iwa-chan’s neck soggy and snotty. Ha.

When they were twelve, almost an exact year after the Roadside Incident, Iwazumi ignored him the whole day in school. Oikawa got paranoid; convinced they found out, that they knew. Iwazumi had been hanging out with him less and less, making excuses more and more: he had no sick aunt or bossy grandfather, no father (who had been pushing them to be more “manly” and work out more).

“ Hey! Why the hell are you ignoring me you craplord!” he had screamed when he caught them finally, trying to duck into the hall to evade him.

Hajime had frozen.

“ What did I do huh? Why are you avoiding me?” Oikawa’s voice raised in volume and pitch, which disgusted himself. He tried to bring himself back from the brink of panic as he screamed.

Iwazumi had just stared at him, agape.

“ It’s our last few days of primary school! Are you moving away? Do you just hate me? Do you -” he stopped himself from asking, “do you know”. Just about.

Iwazumi recovered enough to glance down in shame. They scuffed their shoe against the floor, fixated with it.

“well?” Oikawa wavered out, voice snapping and tears starting to roll down his face in plump ellipses.

“igtdgnesdwiautism”

“what?” he was still yelling.

“ I got diagnosed with autism. I’m autistic.”

“…”

“…”

“ Really? Then why were you never around?”

“ I had therapist and psychiatrist appointments and stuff…”  
“ So why were you trying to run away from me today?”

“…I thought that…you may not want to hang out with me anymore because of it…”

“Why? The teachers say that it’s something you’re born with right? It’s not like you changed or it’s new or anything.”

“Because… because then the other kids are right aren’t they? I’m an idiot. Even worse, I’m a retard. Why would anyone want to hang out with me.”

Oikawa didn’t know what to say. He had stepped over, taking their hand.

“But you’re my Iwa-chan. If you are or not, it doesn’t matter, because if someone makes you upset I’ll beat them up. So you are what you just said? Maybe it’s not a bad thing, because if it’s really a part of you then there is not part of you that’s bad: so then being an idiot, a retard, it’s not bad. It’s the others who are bad.”

“Tooru…”

“The other kids said that I wasn’t a boy, that I couldn’t be, and you beat them up for saying that, for calling me names. I said that they called me this and that. You made me realize that it was true. But that it wasn’t bad. They were bad. So I’m here for you.”

“Tooru…”

“Yeah?”

“I think…I think I’m like you as well. I think I’m like that.”  
And Hajime had told him: that they didn’t really feel like a boy, just like Tooru had never really been a girl (except that his parents had accepted it, but Iwa-chan had doubts about theirs). 

The two of them went searching the web at Oikawa’s house that day, like a secret mission, but found hate and slurs and jokes that their expense more often than they both found answers or labels.

In the end, Iwazumi had settled for just saying that they were a bit girl, but with a big chunk of nothing as well. Oikawa had though it so incredibly cool, giving them whatever remaining bit of feminine clothes that he had left that Hajime could fit into relatively well. Tooru’s mother never in the end found out where her makeup had been embezzled to.

“Hm, do you want to change your name like I did?” Tooru had inquired as they both lay down on the floor of his bedroom, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. They both had makeup all over their faces, seeing as neither of them could figure out how to wear it right. Iwazumi had gotten stuck in a summer dress Tooru had received six months back. Oikawa pulled a muscle laughing before he helped them out of it.

“I like my name. maybe I might in the future, but you’re right.”

“ I know I’m right, but about what in particular?”

“Asshole. Like…if I get crap, I could just fight them for it right? Because I guess in the end it’s like, it’s my name, not a boy’s name.”

“Iwa-chan you’re so cool! It’s making me inspired!”

“Put the lipstick down. You’ve caused enough damage.”

Now Iwazumi had found out that they were nonbinary, but with some amount of female alignment. Oikawa realized that while he was a boy, there was some part of him that wasn’t really. Hajime had suggested that maybe he was kinda outside the realms of simply “ full boy” or “full girl” and Tooru concurred, but in a carefree manner, didn’t bother thinking about it much.

At least until he was alone: there were times where he’d punch walls to feel like a boy again, and Hajime chewed him out for it when he had arrived with bandaged hands to volleyball practice in middle school. He just smiled and pushed the blame onto his clumsiness or chalk it up to a fight that never happened.

 

“ Tooru?”

Iwazumi was holding him tightly, had turned him so that Oikawa’s chest was facing his own as Oikawa bit down on his lip, trying to will himself to stop crying. It was all too much. His story, their soon absence from the club, growing up.

“Are you okay? You can cry, it’s alright.”

He looked up at them. It was almost funny, the much admired face of one of the school’s most popular running with rivulets of mucus and smeared with tears. But he was still beautiful, even when he was ugly, and Hajime just thumped his back rhythmically (like one would an infant) until his breathing regulated again.

“Oikawa?” he had just slumped against Hajime’s chest, already tired, possibly besmirched at himself. He draped his arms around Hajime’s waist and just sat there for a moment, trying to bury himself in his friend.

“I want to tell you. About what happened.”

Iwazumi tilted their head. 

“About what?”

“About what happened when I was eleven. When you found me on the roadside why I asked you to never bring it up again.”

Hajime never thought too much about it, since Oikawa had returned to his jovial self after a few days of skipping school. They had just simply assumed that it was humiliation or an illness that had aroused that incident, and never mentioned it afterwards. 

However, if it was being delved into now, then it was clearly worse than Hajime had ever thought. It had been seven years. How much anguish did Oikawa put himself through in this time. They had always thought that he was fine, under stress due to volleyball maybe, but not suffering at least. 

So as ten thousand thoughts shot through Iwazumi’s mind along with a sharp zing of fear ( fear for Oikawa), they opened their mouth and said, “If you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll listen no matter what.”

 

Oikawa propped himself up, leaning against Hajime still as he sighed and opened his mouth to speak.

He held their hand, trembling, as he began to spoke and as he did, all Iwazumi could do was to squeeze it and hope that he could siphon through some of his strength to give to Tooru.

And so, Oikawa coaxed out the little mouth, unwrapping it, apologising, and let him finally speak, after seven years of numbing silence.


	2. half a story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do we come to be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woop! wow 31 kudos! this is really amazing!
> 
> my mental health has been all over the place lately, and i actually have chem test tomorrow ( which i haven't studied for) so consider this a filler chapter for now! i'll have the next proper part up soon! probably!
> 
> warning for misgendering and self harm this chapter
> 
> love u all!

Oikawa Tooru had always been an attractive child. Glinting eyes that were perceptive and full of light. Always on the run. Always on the lookout for something to snag his fascination. Aliens, Conspiracy theories, Scientific Evidence: it all made Tooru feel so much more grown up than he really was.

He always felt that he knew best, knew more. He did the research and thus had the most amount of proportional knowledge of the subject. Especially when it concerned himself. Some would call it and obsession or arrogance, he dubbed it as simple preparation (anything to gain him a slight upper hand over someone else).

Oikawa Tooru was incapable of being wrong. Oikawa Tooru was the best, knew the best. At age five he knew more than the kids in kindergarten: 

“ We won’t let girls play with us!”

“But I’m a boy! And my mom says that girls are cool so they should play anyway!”

He turned out to be right in the end; true from the start, though the part where he buried himself, until the age of eleven where he decided it was okay to be a boy in the way that he was.

It had been spring, a new year of primary, an annual renewal. The flowers and the grass had erupted from the grass after a near year of asphyxiation under frozen soil. Aunts had been plaguing him all day, since they had decided to courteously check up on their favorite “niece” before he went off for his first day of school. It wasn’t special, or it shouldn’t be, Tooru thought. It was just another year, not even a significant one either, just his fifth.

They’d whisked in, all smiles, whirling him around in cuddles and cheek-kisses. And then his older aunt had commented on how short his hair was, how he wasn’t wearing the girl’s uniform.

“It’s because I’m a cute boy!” he’d blurted out, his mind-to-mouth filter not catching it in time.

And he’d immediately regret it.

His aunts burst into gregarious laughter, patting his shoulder and assuring him that he was a girl, really. His mother anxiously jumped in and noted that he was “ just going through a tomboy phase” to ensure that any remaining awkwardness would be eradicated (as if the hoots of amusement wasn’t certain enough).

They stopped laughing when they realize that Tooru didn’t find it funny, didn’t even smile. He didn’t know what he done to trigger this reaction, but he didn’t like it. He had tried for so so long, to be the girl he was supposed to be, but it was too heavy to seal it away. It was like cement, and his heart was a torn cardboard box: it was a weight that he couldn’t bear and as much as he tried, it would always leak out. No matter what.

He just stood there, an emotion to which a not single word could be assigned to, stunning him. He was a girl. He was a girl. Or at least, he’d always be in their eyes.

When he left for school and waved them off, he slunk off to a corner instead of waiting on hand for Hajime. He sat next to the weeds in a tiny, dirty alcove near the playground. Their tiny leaves had never looked so fallible.  
When he found the feelings in his body again, he cried more than he ever had in his entire life. It was still, at 18, the most he had ever cried. Even more than- keep the order, keep the order. This was a story, not a fallacy, not emotional vomit.

He didn’t even know why. Only that he couldn’t stop and wouldn’t stop and just kept going and going.

Even after the bell for his first class rang. To become rot, to disintegrate into the moss that padded the rough bricks, was to Tooru at the time, something better than to have to go back as a girl again. 

He knew, that the other kids would bully him for his uniform choice. He knew, that nobody would believe him if he was a boy. the ridicule would have felt worth it before, but after what his aunts had done, he was certain that it would always be like this. nobody would ever think he was being serious. that he was only being a joke, a controversy. especially due to his attention hungry personality.

it would even be better to be dead.

at this point he had disintegrated into pinching his arms with his nails, the sensation sharp, his face stiff with dried tears and snot. he organized the teensy marks into little rows. maybe he could peel back his girl skin like this, and just release himself as smoke into the atmosphere. he was already developing breasts and soon it would be too late to be Pure again. he already had to wear a bra. it would be best to rip off his skin to tear of the growing lumps of fat on his chest to just rip it off and break free just-

"Junko?"

He flinched. it was Iwazumi.

"I-Iwa-chan!"

he tried to be perky, attempting to surreptitiously edge his pock-marked arms out of Hajime's line of sight. he didn't think it worked.

"where the hell have you been? teacher's been looking for you everywhere, people saw you come into school but nobody could find you! are you okay?" they squatted down next to Oikawa, finally noticing his disheveled appearance.

"'m fine." Tooru claimed, indignant as he tried to scrape off the dried tears off his cheeks. it fell off in patchy flakes, making him look like a snake shedding skin.

"Don't lie to me." Hajime clenched their fists." if anyone bullied you I'll beat them up."

the statement struck Oikawa in a bad way, and a torrent of backlash which he did not expect himself bubbled up in a defensive:

"What? you think i need to be protected? I can defend myself okay!"

"What the hell, Junko, what do you even mean? look, i've known you for ages and-"

"Don't call me that! i know what you're going to say! i'm not a tomboy, i'm not your girlfriend! the whole school thinks that and i just..ah god...i'm not even a girl okay!"

"what?" 

"i'm not...just forget about it, okay."

"It seems important to you, Ju-..." they paused, piecing together the words like picking dirty laundry off the floor. "if it's important to you, if it's causing you this much pain...if this is who you are, then i won't ignore it. i'm your friend. good friends don't do that."

Tooru just started crying again, picking onto Hajime's shit sleeve, a connection isolated from skin but not contact. He didn't know why. It was like he had been in a vice all his life, and Hajime had just released the screw, slightly. not enough to release him, but enough to grant him a gasp of the world and a snatch of fresh air.

"Oikawa, if you're not Junko the girl, then who are you?"

"I...I think i'm a boy. kind of. But boys don't have chests like mine, right? boys don't have bodies like mine."

"If you're a boy, then that's your body right? then you have a boy's body so then boys do have that kind of body, even if it's not common."

"Iwa-chan..."

"So what do you want to be called?"

And so his name was chosen: Tooru. To show the clarity of his identity. And Tooru always knew, that no matter what, his friend would always be there to call his name for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Junko (純子) means "pure/genuine child" (子 is a suffix with no definitive meaning by itself in Chinese but means "child" in Japanese so it rly confused the shit out of me the first time i saw it)
> 
> Tooru is another spelling of Toru (徹) which means "to make clear"


	3. And so when did we get old?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's not easy to look back, or to remember.
> 
> when did it become so hard to recall the times where you still had whimsy? when will we stop crying about it at night or scald ourselves under the shower? 
> 
> when did the nightmares begin?
> 
> maybe it's better if we don't think about it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi! sorry for the long break! nope, i did not forget about this! my apologies, my health, both physically and mentally went really bad recently, and i even had a pretty serious breakdown this weekend...
> 
> i'm better now, but there was just a lot going on with stress and school, but hopefully i'll be able to get more done-as well as study for exams during the upcoming winter break! keep fighting everyone!
> 
> this is the part of the story that starts to go into the Roadside Incident. so basically for fellow survivors, this will make you start to get uneasy. nothing major happens yet: i've decided to break it up because 1) it's easier to write, 2) it's easier to write in the sense that this is distressing for me to do so and hopefully breaking it up will help and 3) i'm hoping that the breaks offer a good breath of fresh air for you readers as well.
> 
> this is all self beta-ed, and by that, i really mean that this is not beta-ed. at all. enjoy.

Oikawa Tooru had always been an attractive child. Glinting eyes that were perceptive and full of light. Always on the run. Always on the lookout for something to snag his fascination. Aliens, Conspiracy theories, Scientific Evidence: it all made Tooru feel so much more grown up than he really was.

The first season of the year had reared it’s head, cried out to the world, and then went docile once more. 

the cicadas cried in spring’s stead, like 8 year olds after dropped ice-cream cones. The sunsets were the warmest hues available to mandkind. There were no ramifications when you were eleven and in the summer, no restraints: all your outfits light and floaty, all your weekends bright and bubbly. 

And Oikawa was eleven and Oikawa was grown. In his opinion. He was already a young god, the lotus that greedily slurped the most sun. And Hajime was the dragonflies around the lake and life was nothing more than pinky promises at sleepovers and rated 15 movies watched at midnight in secret (they only sweated because of the muggy air, they screamed not out of fright but scoffed at how silly it was. Neither of them slept that night either way.)

And Mister Jones from across the playpark would smile and wave and compliment Tooru’s summer dresses and Oikawa would relish the attention while Hajime snorted and rolled their eyes:

“ I bet even I could look better in that than you, Tooru.”

Hajime never slipped up. It was something that Oikawa never remained ungrateful for, even in a dress, or a skirt, they never thought of Tooru as a girl. They never called him Junko ever again, even when Tooru’s mom and friends and everyone else did, when teacher called his name for register. It was like the lone clear ring of a bell in a cloud of white noise.

“ Bleh bleh, too bad you can’t, because it’s MINE.”  
And with that, Tooru ran screaming away from Mr. Jones, leaving a trail of taunts for Iwazumi to run screaming after, hands as fists in above their head.

The playground was good at age eleven. While Oikawa was definitely basically an adult and mature (all the adults said so, and he was, save for around Hajime), it was cool to be king of the playground. When you were in primary 5, you remained unchallenged for dominance by all the kids in years below (save for the kindergarteners who had no concept of seniority). And since it was an unspoken rule that in primary 6 you were Officially Too Old for the playground anymore.

Mr. Jones came out often to wave and watch the kids play. He was about twenty to twenty-five, so basically 40. According to gossiping parents around the playground, he had a bad divorce before coming to Japan and lost his child to his wife’s custody. He was a writer and came to Japan for inspiration as well as research. Nobody paid him much mind: he was respectful enough and was shut in (writing?) more often than not.

Whatever, Tooru thought it was cool that a foreigner was about, and that he seemed to think that he was interesting. Maybe Oikawa could even be in a book. It would be a western book, but what if he could get royalties? Whatever that was? Maybe it would even get turned into a film. That would be sooo cool.

“Hey hey Hajime! Wouldn’t it be so cool if Mr. Jones wrote a book with us in it? We could even be in a movie and be superstars! I would buy like, 20 cars, just for show.”

“Give it up, why would anyone write about us? It’s not even like this town is particularly exciting…I mean if you’re going to write a book about Japan, why not go to the city or something? Or even travel about the country? It’s just silly.”

“Thank you Iwazumi Hajime, resident downer and crusher of dreams.”

“Shut up Garbage King. And if we’re meeting up here next week, I might be late. My grades have been dropping so I have tuition. I’ll try and make it, but it’s a long run from the center to here and it’s hot as hell so don’t think I’ll sprint for you.”

“Do it for meeeeeeee. Love meeeee.”

“Like hell.”

***

Oikawa arrived early next Saturday anyway. It was good to secure the fort or else some kids below their year might start getting ideas. The slides were basically too small for them now and the tunnels were definitely so. it was still theirs though, at least for another few months.

He was up on the peak of the tallest tower. It was a bit cramped with them both there, but alone it was quite cozy. They didn’t play pretend much anymore, they were too old, but it was nice to sit there and talk about life and school. There was some big test going on in Iwazumi’s life that they kept really hush about.

“Okaaaay so I won’t ask what it is, but I hope you study hard for it and that you pass, alrighty?”

Hajime had mumbled: “ I hope I fail.”

Tooru didn’t understand. Maybe this is what growing up felt like.

He had lugged up a small satchel filled with snacks and knick knacks (just in case they wanted to play pretend after all), the last few issues of Jump to reread and a paltry sum of cash for ice-cream. There was also a neat little sci-fi booklet tucked away in a pocket. Sometimes they would stay out later under the guise of being at the other’s house and watch the stars, until it became too creepy.

Eh, Tooru had time to kill and boredom to withstand, he might as well read about the types of alien species that could very well be out there right now.He had this tendency to read with his legs open, which made his mom scream, especially when he wore a skirt. Hajime suggested simply wearing P.E shorts under them, and Tooru’s mom begrudgingly compromised, but still flushed with shame when he didn’t have meeting knees while seated in public.

It wasn’t like it was that indecent? The shorts went down to slightly past his knees and covered everything he needed it too, plus more. It was just ridiculous.

He was reading a comprehensive study on the potential for organisms called Yeerks (a slug-like species that acted like a parasite) when Mr. Jones called out to him.

“Hello Junko!” Tooru winced. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

His Japanese was passible, on the boundary between neither terrible nor great. It was like talking to a nine year old, but with a lesser grasp of grammar. Tooru quickly snapped both his book and legs shut.

“Oh, um, good afternoon Mr Jones!”

“Yes it’s a nice afternoon right?”

The playground was more quiet today: the local sports center had a free swimming lesson class today in lieu of the humid weather so besides a toddler on the swings in the background, the park was desolate.

“Yeah, it’s a bit warm though…oh! And don’t get the wrong idea! Hajime and I aren’t dating!”

“Yes, I suppose at your age, dating is a bit too grown up,” he said with a chortle.

So, obviously, Oikawa became indignant in his quest to prove himself mature.

“No, I disagree. Maybe that is true for the more ‘simple’ in my year, but I would say that a lot of us are very grown up. We’re even considering our future career choices right now in classes.” 

Yes good that sounded Mature.

Mr. Jones laughed again.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, I find it cute! It’s good to value your youth, the purity that many your age still have at this time: it’s not something that comes twice in a life.”

Tooru swelled. He just got called cute! Maybe Mr. Jones was pretty old (Tooru would have rather gotten the attention of a cute highschooler) but he was still okay. Plus, he seemed cool, and even better, he was one of those white guys from America! They had the biggest things there, the coolest gadgets, and of course Area 51.

“Thank you Mr. Jones!”

“It’s no problem, call me Christian, or Chris for short.” He pronounced it like it was a Japanese word, which was nice, Tooru supposed. It was probably just so he could understand it better anyway.

“Oh but…”

“It’s no problem, I see you and your…friend around a lot, and it’s not like there’s that many years between us anyway.”

“Well, in that case…thank you, Chris.”

“Hey if your friend isn’t here, want to hang out with me?”

“Oh Iwazumi’s coming, just late.”

“In that case, how about just a small ice-cream first? I’d love to get to know you better.”

Tooru’s heart leaped. This was his chance; maybe this would be the thing to steal center stage in school! People would definitely turn head when they heard about this- the older foreign guy who took an interest in him, maybe even become his boyfriend!

“Sure~” 

Later Hajime asked how he already had an ice-pop if there was so much money left.

“Hey, hush hush iwa-chan! Shouldn’t we all have entitlement to a bit of our own mystery?”

“ If that’s how you see it, weirdo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hey, who would like to beta for the ADHD dyslexic? because i would be so grateful
> 
> again, thank you all so much for reading and i hope you continue to give feedback and everything! thank you so much!
> 
> ( true story: i had to ask my mom when she popped in the room to help come up with a Generic White Name and after jim and john and the like: i suggested Chris. she grimaced, said it was perfect, and walked out the room muttering "chris" and making a face. same tbh)


	4. it's not much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all just want to be loved.
> 
> we want it so much.
> 
> we needed it
> 
> and then what happens?
> 
> then what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is when stuff starts to happen.
> 
> like seriously tw for pedophilia, csa, general abusive behaviour and there is implied racial fetishism.
> 
> yeah...sorry i wanted to upload this on the 25th but it took me this long because i guess this was just really really tough for me to write: it took me 3 days because i ended up dissociating several times, having to stop because of nausea, had one small panic attack, a few psychotic episodes...basically i am weak and will not survive the winter aaaaaa
> 
> tbh in the end i just made 2 mixes ab abuse stuff bc of this (read: to procrastinate writing) i'll link them in the end notes.
> 
> so putting aside the fact that i suck (also at writing) here it is: the once more self beta-ed work of mine that people like for some reason haha

After that, Tooru tagged around with Chris much more often: Hajime was off for more and more tuition and more and more examinations and talks- even when they were both together on the sunny days, they didn’t smile as much. They didn’t tell Oikawa what was wrong either and Tooru decided not to pry anymore after Iwazumi blew up about it one day when he pushed it too far.

Frankly, it was annoying. And really self-centered. I mean, Tooru was the self centered one. He was the one who was the core of attention, yet now he felt pushed away.

Whatever. It didn't matter. Chris would take him down to the stores and buy him hair clips, candies, anything it all. The world (or rather wallet) was your oyster once you were an adult, wasn’t it? 

Oikawa became terrified to tell Chris the truth, after everything: that he was really Tooru and not Junko. What if he wouldn’t hang out with him because he wasn’t a girl? What if he thought that Oikawa was disgusting for it? There were words for people like him, there were descriptions- and Hajime had protected him from them this entire time. But you do have to defend yourself one day, right?

The worst possibility was one that Tooru dared not even think about: that he wouldn't even believe him. That he, like his aunts, would insist on his womanhood, an intrusion into a space not rightfully his.

 

So he would take a deep breath every week or so, open his mouth, and then close it again.

But life was good. In a strange, fragile way, like sugar glaze over curt apples.

It was near evening one day, Tooru in a swishy dress, leaning against the slide in the playground that they had their first conversations at, waiting for Chris. He had made the choice of wearing battered sneakers with the watery yellow dress. 

Complete with ample skirt that could be bunched in hands, backless nature that allowed one’s back to be coddled by the sun and it’s airy-rough feel to the material it was one of Tooru’s favorite outfits. He thought that he made him look charming, and it was the only dress or skirt he could really wear anymore without a throttling wave of…wrongness.

It seemed to be a favorite of Chris as well: he frequently complimented Oikawa on how beautiful he looked in it, buying him many trinkets and baubles to accompany it (5 hair ornaments, 3 bracelets and 2 necklaces counting). In fact, Tooru was wearing the faux flower hairpin that day. An unattainable orange colour posing as a rose forever in bloom.

Frankly speaking, Tooru felt that sometimes the gifts were mandatory to accept and were expected to be worn; Chris would even dismiss Oikawa’s embarrassment and insistence and would purchase things for him against Tooru’s better wishes. Never extravagant in price, but not inexpensive either: something that Oikawa himself would never buy for himself based on cost alone (excluding other reasons). 

Maybe that’s why Chris would always be in a moderately foul mood when Oikawa wasn’t wearing anything given to him by the former. It was kinda understandable, he guessed. Though it made him feel so guilty every time… maybe that’s why he would wear that dress so often, even when he didn’t feel like it. Nothing else suited jewelry but he liked the dress, he liked it and he kinda liked the jewelry and he liked Chris. 

He liked Chris. So it gave a painful twang when he snubbed Oikawa when they met up four days ago, finally asking in a side tone and an upturned nose why he wasn’t wearing anything that he had given him. did he not like it? Was he still too young for some of this stuff? Why did he /dress/ like that? In the end Oikawa jogged to keep up, and eventually, after apologizing and explaining for a few minutes, Chris forgave him. it was like he had never been upset. 

It was because Chris was just so nice. And it made Tooru feel like the ungrateful and arrogant child he was. I mean, he did buy him stuff with his own money.

He just wanted things to be good and happy between them. He just didn’t want to mess it up again. 

While he waited, he idly watched the smaller kids, running around as if their legs would never slow. They batted at dragonflies, darting behind the legs of their parents, chased each other with spiders and earthworms. It was almost how shocking how distant that felt: these things that he and Hajime would do not so long ago was now something on the brink on melancholic.

It wasn’t an entirely bad feeling. It meant that he was grown. It meant that he was older now, more mature for sure. It meant he wasn't a kid anymore.

Chris arrived, on his pale face his constant wide grin, bright blue eyes shining in the late afternoon light. Dangling from his neck was a clunky polaroid camera.

“Hello Junko! Been waiting long?” 

Oikawa had grown accustomed to hearing that name from his mouth- unfair though it was to be upset in the beginning, since it was really mostly Iwazumi who referred to him as Tooru.

He still couldn’t help that twinge, that guilt. He really should tell him one day. He would.

“Not really, it’s a nice to watch the kids anyway- they’re so silly! It’s cute.”

“Thinking of having any when you get older?”

“No.”

He laughed, “ You’ll change your mind when you get older.”

Tooru didn’t argue. He very well might. However…

“You look so beautiful today, I think I should take a picture so that we can preserve this!”

Oikawa didn’t really want to be beautiful, but he knew when he was being complimented and that was the important part. He jutted out his hip to one side, hitching up the skirt’s hem, raising his shoulders and giving a sultry (he hoped) smile to the camera. The shutter sounded.

“Oh, going for the sexy look, are we?”

Tooru giggled, “Take it or leave it~”

“Definitely take.” It came out like a low rumble. Tooru was conscious of his Adam’s apple bobbing as he said it, and then afterwards, when he swallowed.

Tooru heated up, everywhere.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Chris quipped.

“Hm? What?”

“There’s a very nice place in this park. A bench that a lot of couples go to. It is nice, shall we go?”

Tooru didn’t just heat up, he practically steamed.

“ Yeah sure,” he said, examining his nails with his face a bright scarlet.

Everyone knew that “area”. In reality it was a small pavilion, frequented regularly by young couples and sometimes small families: mainly for picnics for the latter, but for much more cheeky things for the former. It was very romantic- serene, secluded and ripe with flushes of succulent blooms.

Tooru was rearing to go; could this mean…that Chris actually liked him after all? He felt like he was leaping inside his skin, like ripples might almost appear on the surface of his summer tan.

“You Japanese are all so bashful! Though really, most Asians are: fragile and small. That is very cute. Well, come on then, let’s go.”

Chris caught his wrist and Tooru caught worried whispers from two parents; their concerned gazes locked on him, hands fanned over their mouths, heads turned over to each other. Their hands were on their own respective kids. Tooru pulled a face at them as he left, turning to the front.

He didn’t need them fretting over him. He knew what he was doing.

He turned, glanced at the kids one last time as they left for the pavilion. Saw them cry with laughter, frenzied in their enthusiasm.

He was older than them. He was grown. He was eleven. He had no idea how wrong he was: how he was still juvenile, how it was okay to be, it was okay to be a kid. He had no idea that one day, he would never be able to move past eleven. That when he really was grown, he’d still never be able to grow past eleven. That your entire life could still go on and stop at a singular year.

They sat apart for a while. Then closer. They talked. Then they held hands. Somehow, Tooru ended up in Chris’ lap. He didn’t remember how.

Chris kissed him, hungry and soft. Oikawa kissed back, messy and irresolute and desperate to please.

He knew what he was doing. He kept telling himself that. He believed it.

He knew what he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!!
> 
> i ended up remembering a lot of stuff while writing this: more about a bad "friend" though. this is the mix (there's caps lock though): 
> 
> http://8tracks.com/intergalacticplanetary/how-could-you-have-done-that
> 
> and the other one i made more ab csa feelings:
> 
> http://8tracks.com/intergalacticplanetary/i-m-not-fucking-broken-yes-i-am
> 
> about the pavilion...yeah i have no idea tbh i just thought it would look like onoe of the goddamn pavilions in the sbg...even though it is probably nothing like the description given and is rly improbable but ok
> 
> specifically this one: http://www.tourismprofile.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Singapore-Botanic-Gardens-green-www.tourismprofile.com_.jpg


	5. the things we drop decibels for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> life was so sweet but not it only sits sour. rot, ripe, rot. rot, ripe, rot.
> 
> hold on to the people who's image of you doesn't change after they know. let them love you because it's what you need and deserve. it's ok if you never trust again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long! we had to rest to get the morale to start writing it, rest through it, rest after, omg. i won't write another chapter until CNY is over bc this is rly pantang for sure...
> 
> but yeah huge huge csa/pedophilia cw, rape warning, warning for ableist slurs and emetophobia. ( as well as food and disordered eating)
> 
> this was beta-ed by dadkage and thank you so so much! i hope i didn't undo your work aha..
> 
> please proceed with care and i hope it's good to read! thank you for sticking along as thus far!

They spent more time, alone, together. Oikawa glided as a glacier would, away from Hajime with some guilt, as Iwaizumi did the exact same, but with less eye contact. It was mistake in motion, yet Tooru indulged himself all the same. There was nothing wrong in the world as birds flitted across the eternal span of cloudscape. Nothing filthy in the enveloping warmth of Chris' hands, his mouth. Nothing dirty in the way he grabbed Oikawa's forearms so hard once. It near bruised and Oikawa swore it would have fractured, as they kissed.

Chris had backed away, apologized, said that he was too sexy for his own good. Progression was natural, he assured himself, as they moved more and more from open spaces, to areas with less people. He was happy, but jittery. He wasn't good enough, this elusive foreign man would ditch him for his inexperience, his immaturity. He would be left behind, cast aside. No longer the favorite or the center of attention.

Though it seemed that this wasn’t a pressing matter right now anyway.

Chris had been more desperate lately, edging near to forceful, even. Seeing each other had to be more frequent, more constant. They had to touch more often, touch deeper, for greater lengths.

He tried on his mother's makeup, that Tuesday, slipping on her heels, all her best baubles dangling from his neck and wrists. A dress slip that he didn't know how wear right hung loose on him. He could see his breasts, causing minute swells in the slip: they had already forced him to wear bras, and he opted for sports ones instead. They were like tumors and he was certain that they were eating at him.

In the end he felt more childish than ever, in rouge and a lace dress, as if he was five once more. Chose to put everything back and started a childish sulk about it.

The lovebites peeked near to the neckline of most of his shirts, and when his mother asked he snubbed her, lied, and felt horrible for it. He almost felt that Chris magnetized him, and drawn like filings, closer and closer to Chris' bed. And every time he felt like he had charged him up, electricity causing every hair to perk.

There was a skip in his step that day though; they were going to get parfaits at the fancy outlet down near the convenience store. It wasn't extravagant, but cost enough that eating there was close to a luxury. Either way, definitely a treat for two grubby kids who'd rather spend the equivalent money on 5 soda pops instead.

When he got there, Chris waited outside, pale eyes glinting, a toothy smile on his face. He looked smart, in a polo shirt and slacks.

" Hello, Junko!" A wave accompanied this statement.

Tooru was excited; he had bought a new dress on Thursday. Almost like a miniature version of what his mother had -soft and intricate in it's two-dimensional complexity of lace. It had pleased her to take the supposed cue that he was growing out of his "tomboy phase" and shelled out her money without complaint.

He contemplated, growing his hair out again, when he was at Hajime's house, last Friday. He must have done it out loud because his Iwa-chan turned to him and went:

"Why though? You had to fight your mom to allow you to get it cut, and to keep it short."

"Ah you know, just a friend of mine thinks that I would look cuter with long hair…"

"Is it Chris? Since when was he your friend? I know you two have been hanging out a lot recently, but my mom says to keep away from him."

"So what if we are? And why, and why do you care?"

"She didn't say, okay? Or she wouldn't," partnered with a shrug, Hajime kept talking. "She just told me that people have been talking."

"You mean old gossipers with nothing better to do. I don't see how then you can say anything: since you don't even know what it is. Innocent until proven guilty, ever heard of that?"

"Yeah and have you heard that there's no smoke without a fire?"

"There’s no damn fire, only rumors of a fire, apparently!"

"Really? I just don't want you ruining something you fought so hard for. For yourself. Just because some swanky foreigner likes long tresses, okay? Grow it out if that's what you want, but not because some damn breadfucker thinks it's cute."

"You know what, fuck you."

"What?" Their stunned expression and tone was genuine and it made Tooru feel like shit for responding that way. There was no going back now though: all he could do was stand his ground.

"He’s a good guy and I’m not going to listen to you slander him like this."

"I didn't say a damn thing! What the hell, Oikawa." 

"Whatever. I'm leaving. Maybe I'll spend some time with someone more cultured."

He heard Hajime yell at him as he closed the door. That night, his guilt ate its way into his dreams and gave his sleep the fitful sickness. They didn't speak since then. It had been 8 days since then. He wanted to apologize. He didn't know how.

It was just best to put it out of mind.

"Hey Chris! I thought you were going to save us a seat!"

"Nah, just tell me what you want, and I'll place an order and we can take it somewhere nice!"

"Hm? But why? The cafe is nice!"

"It’s nothing, just that some people might get the wrong idea about us."

"What do you mean?" 

He had an indistinct feeling of what Iwa-chan's mother had meant. It was something tucked onto the corners of newspapers, something that he refused to believe was there. Something that should stay a bad warning coupled with wagging fingers, on soggy paper. For a few brief seconds, his blood was dragged down from his face and down into the pavement. 

It wasn't like that. This was different.

"Well, some people think that I’d be too old for you, but I don't think age should matter when it comes to love! Also, you're very mature, more mature than a lot of adult's I’ve dated. I don't see people who say that it's preying, you're saying okay right? You are not an idiot that cannot tell yes from no, so it's okay."

"Yeah that's what I think too!" he didn't want to say how learning his kanji was close to impossible. That he only stopped stuttering and mispronouncing as much after over two years of speech therapy. But he wasn't an idiot. He wasn't stupid. He was intelligent.

It wasn't like that. This was different.

Both of them chose their parfaits, laden with whipped cream and dashed with fruits. Kiwi, banana, strawberry, here and there. It was sweet, succulent, good. Later, Oikawa would never be able to eat it again without throwing up, but always thought that it tasted like childhood. Or something lost. But what was the distinction, honestly?

Leaning over, Chris planted a kiss on Tooru's cheek as he took a last spoonful of the ice-cream-turned-soup.

"You’re so beautiful. We should hang out at my place, if you have nothing better to do."

"Yeah, sure!” The invitation was a thrilling one, and one anxiously awaited. He knew Chris wasn't a creep, or anything like that. This wasn't the stuff that you saw as a headline that your parents tried to hide from your sight.

They strolled, slow; leisurely, brushing hands every so often, making Oikawa flutter inside.

When they arrived at his flat and sat down on the couch, Chris pulled him close instantly, forcing his tongue into his mouth. His hands slithering on shoulders, under the sleeves, pulling down Tooru’s bra strap. He had decided to wear a “proper” one that day.

“Oh, you’re wearing a real bra today. Was it for me?” He laughed. “ It’s very sexy.”

It had been. And also it hadn’t.

“H-have you been noticing my bras all this time?” He knew he was trembling. He was pleased, or he should have been at least. This was just…unexpected. Rushed. He wasn’t ungrateful.

“I’m sorry, I’m just so excited. This is making me happy. You want to make me happy right?”

Oikawa just nodded stiffly with teeth biting down on his bottom lip as Chris pawed open the vice of his clamped thighs. He wanted this. But it wasn't in the way he’d ever envisioned it. It was meant to be a legato progression, not so supersonic that it felt like a blur.

The words “Slow down,” and “Stop,” and “Please,” got lost in the muffled actions of the man’s mouth on the young boy’s neck. In the scrape of stubble across peachy skin, in the bruising of soft skin, in the tearing of cotton panties. 

And then, in the pain and swelling and near rupture, all memory was lost except one of sensation.

That part was the part that woke Tooru up in the night. Sent him reeling, and scrambling for his cellphone at four in the morning to send Hajime a text, or to post something in the team skype chat and hope that someone would be awake.

Because it was in his bed, lying down, alone, when it hit him. When it’d always hit him. And that was the shit part. That’d he’d never be truly alone for the rest of his life. Because he could count on Chris’ hands, his sweaty palms, his clammy lips, coming back: in the dead of night, of the middle of the day.

He’d never be left alone again; always haunted by the time he tried too hard to be loved. Always haunted.

The last part he remembered from then on was being shoved onto his back; the feeling of his underwear being tugged down his hips as he only struggled just a little.

The rest of it, from when the door to Chris’ flat closed was jumpy tape, half full of static - clearer some days, hazier the next. Chronological order wasn't even an option. It’s not like he even wanted to know anyway. In fact, it was a point to stay away from the last few parts of it before the whiteout: all of those recollections were open sores, puss-filled and had no intentions of ever healing.

If all of his memories formed a body, then the times with Chris, the first and last time, that would have been his arm, atrophied and worthy of amputation. It was the real malignancy all along. It was not the mammary glands, which had caused him grief, that incubated inside him. They had since halted their development by force anyway.

So the world was at peace again, wasn’t it? The rulings of nations still held, even through current processes of their violation. And words would not be exchanged over it. Miniaturized tragedies were quite the same way, weren’t they?

The next thing that he could remember, he was by the roadside, right on the curb. The sun was low in the sky, viscous with burdens, the street desolate. It all hurt. It was a different kind of excruciating, and he wondered if his organs had all ruptured, if his ligaments in his legs had all been shredded. It was already evident that he wasn’t able to walk, or at the very least, walk easy. Was he going to die? It was probable. He felt like it.

He wanted to cry. For no reason other than every reason: Hajime was right; he was wrong; it was like that, like every vague and scary story; it probably wasn’t love, or at least he hoped that love wasn’t meant to rip you apart like this, literally. He felt like wailing, out of every single kind of hurt he felt and that Chris had inflicted upon him. However he was now glazed, the wet cement had crusted over; the frost had skimmed over the surface of every tropical lake in the world. Temperate, temperance wouldn't be the only victim here today. And he was tired. Far too tired to shed even one plump tear, his body hoarding all its remaining salt and moisture. There were still some parts of him that his body wouldn't allow to be sold.

He practically felt the must in his mouth.

He was tired, far too tired. Too tired to even attempt walking. It wasn’t worth it. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t want to know. He couldn’t think right.

It was as if the smell of nail polish remover had been tipped into his head, through his ears, and now the ethanol hung like elliptical clouds on every exhale, circled every bright light.

Maybe he was already dead.

He didn’t remember closing his eyes and he didn’t remember falling asleep. Time just fell from under his feet and when it surged back up to piece itself back together, there they were.

Iwaizumi stood over him, widened eyes and a slack jaw at Oikawa’s torn knees and mangled dress. The strap off one shoulder had been ripped, and it dangled down like a testimony. If that didn’t scream Bad News, the bruises and the loll of Oikawa’s head told the rest of the story. He was so still, practically inanimate that it made Hajime want to check for a pulse. Rising and falling, though, his chest proved that he was still a viable life form and Iwaizumi was grateful for it.

“ Oikawa, what…”

“ Just don’t take me home. Let me sleep over at your house, please. Say…anything to my mom…convince her.”

“ Are you okay? What happ-“

“ I fell…. into... ditch.” Tooru’s speech was slurred, forced. Hajime wanted to call a doctor more than anything else.

“ I don’t buy that.”

Oikawa’s deep inhale cut the atmosphere like a chord. The wind whistled by, kicking up leaves, unknowing –or uncaring- of the situation at hand.

“ Something happened. I don’t know what. I don't want to say. I don’t know what. Please just let me stay,”

“…”

“…Alright.”

Hajime held out their hand. Tooru did not take it.

“Tooru?”

A pause. “Could you…help me up? I need…to lean on you. I can’t…walk.”

Hajime’s stomach lurched as they helped Tooru up. It wasn’t an obscenely obvious amount, but the seat of his dress was damp with blood.

They held him a bit tighter than he would have had they not noticed that, as they slowly walked under an amber sky that blackened out to an indecisive void.

Oikawa gradually became slightly livelier as they made the relatively long trek back, but still remained marginally vacant. He didn’t remember much of anything, but yet he did. He didn’t question it, only endeavored for it to cease. Somehow, less than an hour later, he wound up showered, changed, and leaning against Hajime’s bed. He did not have to go home, and he leaned heavily against Iwaizumi, his neck starting to cramp as he rested his head on their shoulder

They had so many questions, so many things they wanted to know, out of fear, out of concern. But they knew that the answers were not property they were entitled to nor were the questions in areas they were welcome in at that point in time.

“Please, don’t ask okay. Don’t ask ever.” Faintly, this was whispered, and Hajime had to crane to hear. It took them a few moments to process it, but they nodded, ran their hand through his hair. Held his hand.

They slept in the same bed that night; neither of them said anything about it being awkward or them being too old. Tooru was too far and then too close: one end of the bed at points, dangling precariously off the edge; then wound up around Hajime like clingfilm. He cried through the night, and it seemed like distance had no remedy for whatever plagued his dreams.

In the morning, he went home. And they both pretended that it had been a normal sleepover. A regular childish whim.

Oikawa didn’t contact them the day after that, Sunday. He didn’t go back to school on the reopening on Monday. Or the next day. Even the day after that. Hajime fretted that whatever it was, it was more severe that they had previously envisioned. Images of E.R scenes, stiff backless gowns and IV drips were stationed at the forefront of their mind: and only their friend’s reappearance would be able to dispel it.

In the end, Tooru reappeared looking a smudge gaunt but as bubbly as ever. He had been bedridden once he’d gotten home with a terrible illness: everything he ate, he threw up again, and just slept constantly. A terrible stomach bug. His mother was close to calling the doctor but as he got slightly better on the third day, all was well.  
And the subjects changed, both in speech and in class, and it was never spoken about. Whatever it was. And Hajime forgot about it, but not quite really. But it was just some minor Oikawa Drama, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

 

And now their blood had gone cold.

As he closed this off, Tooru wiped his nose with the back of his hand for the sixth time. They were both quiet for a few beats, Hajime sunk their head down Oikawa’s back, slotting it between his shoulder blades, squeezing his waist tight.

“I always wanted to know, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa laughed, watery and hollow. “Where was I, when you found me?”

“I…” Tooru didn’t even know. He didn’t even know where he was. How he got there.

"You had been missing the whole day. I had finished cram school, and your mom thought you were with me. You weren’t, and she got worried, so I told her that you were probably in our usual hangouts. I went to look for you. You were up the back road, lying on the pavement about three blocks away from the cram school. It was the one up the hilly area, where most people don’t go much anymore. I don’t know how long you were there for.”

There was a pause and Tooru heard Hajime swallow and gave a sharp exhale. It was the worst sound in the world.

“I thought…I thought you were dead...when I first saw you.” Their voice cracked and Tooru’s resolve along with it.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m so sorry…” and neither of them knew who had said it.

“I called your mom, when I got back and you were in the shower. I passed you some of my clothes and told her that you were too lazy to walk home and that you wanted to spend time with me. She said okay. I opened up the shower door after about 25 minutes and saw that you were just sitting there. I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have. You weren’t responding to me from outside and I was afraid.

"I washed the soap off you and coaxed you into dressing yourself. I didn’t do a thing else. I can promise that.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

“ I… I vomited up breakfast when I got home that day. So my mom put me to bed. I didn’t want to have to talk to her. She said that I’d eaten something bad, some bad ice-cream. I couldn’t get out of bed. I didn’t have a fever either or anything viable that would let me stay home. So I just… made myself puke for those 4 days until she just let me rest.

"She told me, on Monday. That Chris had left. He was flying back to America: his funds from his parents were running dry and so he was going back to Orange County to finish writing his book. So, that would have been why he was pushing it really hard.

"She asked me if that made me sad since we were good friends. I said yes, because I couldn’t say anything else. I didn’t know if part of what I thought I knew was real. Sometimes I still don’t. She said that he left his email with me so that we could write, his skype so that we could video chat. She dissuaded me from doing so though, since she caught wind of the rumors.

"She just never thought that I could have already have been a victim. Funny, right?  
He cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on the side of the slide. The rhythm was soothing, and yet inflaming in tandem.  
"He didn’t have any of my personal emails or anything so he couldn’t contact me, nor did he remember my exact address. I was safe. Free. And after four days I managed to convince myself that whatever little off-set snippets I recalled were bad dreams.

"Of course, it was still in my subconscious. And it fucked up my behavior for like, ever. My mom put me in clinic appointments for a bit. While I’ve been histrionic since a kid, supposedly, and dyslexia just inbuilt, it’s likely that my narcissism came from that. The post-traumatic shit for sure did.”

“I know you had appointments, you said, but…” They trailed off.

“Yeah, my actions were a bit okay but still messed up. I thought it was normal. It wasn’t. Before I went back to school on Wednesday, I stuck all the stuff he’d ever given me in a box in my cupboard. My mom would have asked questions if she found it all in the trash and… I didn’t really want to. He’d hurt me, but I still thought he loved me. I thought I loved him. So I didn’t toss it out.

"She was upset that I wasn’t going back to wearing frilly stuff though. She found the dress and I’d told her that I tore it running about and falling. She wasn’t angry because it wasn’t expensive but she concurred that it was a waste buying these things for me since I was only going to ruin them unintentionally.

"Well, it stayed there for years, collecting dust. I didn't touch it at all. I’d forgotten about it anyway. Until after we’d graduated from junior high. I was sorting out the uniform and clearing out the school stuff, including the elementary stuff, to pack away. Found a mangy old box. Opened it.

"I was confused as hell as to what all this was. I thought that I’d donated all my old dresses and stuff once I had openly transitioned. Which, by the way, was a bleeding shame because I liked some of that stuff okay, but she wouldn’t have taken me seriously what with all that bullshit." Tooru groans at the thought. 

"But... yeah. I asked her. She told me who it was from, and questioned my apparent memory break. Then it all came flooding back and I stayed in my room crying all night. She told me that I should donate it, or maybe give the less childish stuff to Kindaichi.

"I took it out and burned all if it. Maybe it was a shit idea, but it was self-gratifying. I went out and bought Kindaichi some bracelets out of the crushing guilt after that.

"I wasn’t well for that period of time, and I had already been high-strung because of a lot of stress-induced flashbacks that headed up to this. So she took me to a therapist and asked for a diagnosis.

"I never told you about the trauma, and I never told you where the narcissistic personality disorder came from. My mom doesn’t really know why I have PTSD either, but she wasn’t allowed to pry because of confidentiality… but there you have it! The culmination of Oikawa’s crappy sob story and trashy life!” He spread out his arms, but the effect was a subdued one seeing as his audience was leaning into his back.  
He let them fall, again, a pitiful arc.  
“Don’t say that.”

“You say I’m trash too. I don’t mind it.”

“I… didn’t mean it like that. I can stop.”

“ I didn’t ask you to. I said I don’t care.”

And there was no sound except for buzzing fluorescent lights and in that taciturnity Tooru began to cry again, and Hajime clung onto him as if one of them were a life-preserver and one of them were lost at sea. It was uncertain who was who.

“I’m so sorry. I try to act great and cool, but you know now. I’m filthy and broken and used up and thrown aside. So don’t love me anymore. Just don’t. Just let me rot like I should have all those years ago. I should have died before you found me on the curb.”

“No, that’s bullshit. You’re a fucking amazing setter. You’re a fucking great captain. You’re a good friend. You’re not any of these things and I’m so glad you’re alive today," Hajime pressed their wet cheek against his back.

"Just… thank you. Thank you for still being my friend when I pushed you aside in primary 6. Thank you for taking me back to your house and for letting me wear your clothes. Thank you for still living, all those years, for being here with me today.”

They had both cried so hard they thought they were going to burst from all of it. To be honest, Tooru didn’t even know why anymore.

“Oi, are you two okay?” Issei and Takahiro, glanced over at them. They had watery eyes as well, but that was probably more to do with their last match as high-schoolers being over.

“Yeah, what?”

The team was going to go get okonomiyaki together, the last meal that they would ever officially have as a team. No matter how shit Tooru felt, like hell would he have ever passed that up.

Hajime and Tooru walked together, and Iwaizumi didn’t complain when Oikawa made them link arms. He flitted about the group as a whole, much like his normal self. Iwaizumi was thankful when they saw Tooru clasp hands with Yahaba and swing them back and forth, imploring the whole team to make a human chain.

They all laughed, cried, ate their fill, and were boisterous all around. But this time, Hajime did not forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's honestly so hard to write about like repressed memories that r being repressed when like a huge chunk of what you went through has been repressed already... and it's really hard to write ab dissociating from a 3rd person view wow
> 
> i hope that was okay? also i made another 2 abuse mixes bc i am an abuse-mix-churning **machine**
> 
> http://8tracks.com/intergalacticplanetary/i-had-a-dream-where-we-were-happy
> 
> like big blood and drdp warning ^^
> 
> http://8tracks.com/intergalacticplanetary/the-air-out-here-is-poison
> 
> this one is mostly family abuse but aaa
> 
> http://8tracks.com/intergalacticplanetary/and-i-ate-the-earth#smart_id
> 
> huge blood cw again and this is a BB playlist but a lot of the songs in there give us abuse feels..
> 
> yep just shamelessly self-promoting again...


	6. the dirt in which our roots may grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You aren't running in circles; it's a spiral staircase upwards and heaven is only what you make of it. heaven can be chocolate pudding or a close friend or a warm smile from a stranger. 
> 
> heaven is yours to make

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg...i haven't updated this in forever....it's just been really hard for me lately! i got sicker and sicker but hey! i got into uni a year early! i hope u all this like haha, if anyone even still follows this!
> 
> btw content warning for suicide (not acted out) in this chapter!
> 
> ( also listen to this while u read - this song helped me a lot and its where the title is from!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byHSQoemFvI)
> 
> i am going to continue this, and i'll do so as part of my series about the 3rd years from various teams and what happens with them after their final matches close! the other part currently up is about bokuto and akaashi; and the next part of this will be about what happens with these two after graduation!

“ We’ll! We’re off!” Oikawa cooed to the team, holding Iwa-chan’s hand. Everyone else, including Iwaizumi was weeping bitterly. It was the most Tooru had ever seen them cry, like, ever. Not to mention all in one day too.

“I’m sorry Oikawa!” Yahaba bowed, bellowing loudly to a point where an elderly couple turned head and clucked. “For your last year, all the 3rd year’s last year, and we couldn’t bring you to nationals!”

“ Hey~ don’t cry! In that case, make me proud when we all come watch to watch you kids next year right?”

This just made poor Yahaba cry harder but, they nodded curtly and bowed their head more before snapping back upright and nodding and waving them off with the rest of the team.

“So, where are we even going together?” Hajime looked vaguely dour – it had finally sunk in that their years of carefree volleyball had come to a close.

“We~ll duh! We’re having a sleepover at your house!”

“Asshole, don't decide this shit for yourself.” They took out their phone to text their parents anyway. “What about your mom? Dosen’t she need you home?”

“Nah, she’s been drinking again – my Dad still keeps harassing her over it.”

“…sorry about that. It must be really hard.”

“No, I mean it’s fine – I never knew he’d file a lawsuit over her letting me change my name. I think she’s starting to break though. Like the other day she kept asking me if I could just be “his little girl again, for him”. But y’know I’m not doing that. I guess it makes me bad right?”

Hajime just squeezed his hand. He squeezed their’s back.

“ I think I’ll tell mine in the morning. I can’t keep living like this.”

“You're too brave Iwa-chan! You’re like, a true heroine or something!”

“Shut up, gay boy.”

A bird wailed in the distance. For some reason, it was the saddest thing that Hajime had ever heard, just for a second. Enough to bring them to tears again.

When they looked up, Tooru was laughing, sobbing, once more. _So this is what tragic beauty is…_ crossed Iwazumi’s mind.

“It’s so funny right? We go through a day, loose so much and then we have a sleepover! It’s almost like, past all these years, nothing has changed!”

“Things have changed.” Hajime found resilience in the words themselves. It was almost as if the words found themselves and then animated their speaker. There are times where what we say can only come from deep down of what we feel, what we want to feel.

“What has?”

“ Bad things have changed.”

“ I’m still scared of the same damn things baby, so what has changed?”

“We’re different people now. That has changed. For a while you couldn’t even receive a ball or set it without dropping it on your head. For a while I laughed at you and had no interest in anything besides Judo and Football. I used to think that the world would end at 2012. You used to be called a wrong name and now you’re called the right one. You used to steal my clothes and now you have your own, and vice versa.

Things have changed. You became a Captain more than once. We ate lunch with our team. We have inside jokes and we cried and bawled with laughter and with sadness.

You’re not the same scared kid you used to be. You don’t have to leave that behind. But every little good thing is a blessing. Because it has to be. Out of all the things that could ever happen in the world, and I mean every breeze and every lepton shifting: if that turns out to be good for you then it is a blessing. Because it could have happened to about 7 billion other people and not you. Or it could have turned out awful instead of good.

Maybe we just have to bear with it and hope for the small good things that happen next time. Or I’m talking out of my ass but I can’t help it because this is how I really feel about it.

 

 

I was going to kill myself, about a year and a month ago now. I thought I couldn’t last much longer – living like I had to be someone’s son when I’m not. Whenever I drop hints about me and they turn dangerous.”

“ Iwa-chan, I didn’t know I’m so sorry I should have been-“

“It’s ok. I mean we had a fight, I can’t even remember what over the day before and I just ended up in a rut and I was going to do something I would have regretted.

And I was on my laptop, I brought it into the bathroom with all the tablets I could grab in my house. Flu medicine, Cough syrup, pain relief, hayfever tablets, sleeping pills, antidepressants. And then I sat down and I opened up some videos so I would have something to watch while I died, because I heard it could take hours.

But I just happened to open up a tutorial video about how to make rikkuma themed hamburgers.

And then my first though was: “ this looks really nice I wish I could eat this. Maybe I can get Tooru to help me cook.”

And then I just couldn’t do it.

So in a way, I owe that 30 year old mother on nnd my life. Maybe if I opened something else, I would have gone ahead with it. But it was a blessing, to see just that one small thing. That was my blessing that day. The email you sent me 2 hours later, that was a blessing.”

Oikawa screamed something along the lines of “uwaaa Iwa-chan” before lurching forward and embracing them, hiccupping and keening.

This was really too much crying it was so shameful and…

“I love you too. So I guess that’s what I mean by it. Tomorrow can be better, if only marginally.” Cuddling Oikawa back, under streetlamps in the dark, felt like a moment isolated by time.

It was like they were the only people around, and that the world would not eavesdrop on this sacred intimacy. They felt like this moment, their last safe space, and one they made for themselves. It was without the outside touch of plastic playground slides, constructed by tired workers as foreign as the contact it would bring to their moment.

In a way, it was horribly open: the middle of the street, moths hovering to their faux sun over their heads. A dirty mandate of heaven, granting them promise and life. Their last safe space, finally crafted as their own, was nothing more than the skin on their backs, they way it touched against each other, and the veil of heat rising above two childhood friends. Two people. On a dim street, howling into each other’s corners to try and make meaning for coming days.

Then a motorcycle roared past. And the world took from them once more; the ebb and flow of receive and relinquish.

“So, uh…Every small thing is a blessing?”

Now that the rush had past, Hajime felt that too much had been said, embarrassment crept into their breastbone, and only too late were they realizing the corniness in their own words.

Tooru took both their hands and lowered his head, pressing his partner’s calloused hands against his crown.

“It is, it truly is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> geh....was this too corny? this was what my alter told me when i was in the shower crying and for some reason it really cheered me up lmao... i hope u all enjoyed this! and i'll try to upload another chapter soon again!


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